


And A Star To Steer Her By

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Brief Nightmare, Caleb is Seasick, Catharsis, Clerics Need Looking After Too, Cuddling, Did I Mention Caduceus is Overwhelmed And Caleb is Seasick?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Needs A Long Rest Seriously, Everything Else Will Get Worse, F/M, Falling In Love, Fever Dreams, Fjord is Overwhelmed, Gen, Harm to Animals, Hypothermia, I Guess We're Pirates Now, Insecurity, Late Night Conversations, Literally Being Swept Away, Mild Backstory Speculation, Mild self loathing, Offically Canon Divergent, References To Past Kidnapping, So Is Caduceus, So Many Cups of Tea, Spoilers for Episode 35 of Campaign 2, Storms, The Animal Gets Better, Vomiting, and hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-17 05:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: The adventures of The Mighty Nein aboard their brand new (accidentally stolen) ship! Fjord and Caduceus are overwhelmed, Jester is helping hold Fjord together, Caleb is seasick, Beau and Yasha are awkward, and no one is sure where they're going, actually.And that's before Nott wings an albatross....





	1. First Mate

**Author's Note:**

> All I know about boats is from google and youtube videos. This is a disclaimer and not an invitation to correct me in the comments please.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord’s the only person who knows anything about sailing. And that’s… well, that’s a bit of a problem, because he’s hurt and exhausted and there’s a man tied to his mast and they have a ship, _he_ has a ship and how the hells did that happen? Fjord doesn’t hardly know and he was _there._
> 
> Fjord is feeling just the _tiniest_ bit overwhelmed right now...

_I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,  
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. \--Sea Fever, by John Masefield_

Fjord’s the only person who knows anything about sailing. And that’s… well, that’s a bit of a problem, because he’s hurt and exhausted and there’s a man tied to his mast and they have a ship, _he_ has a ship and how the hells did that happen? Fjord doesn’t hardly know and he was _there._ He has a ship and he wants to put as much distance between himself and Nicodranas as he can. He alternates between staring at the dark water ahead and looking up at the night sky, thankfully clear enough to navigate by. They’re heading roughly west at a fairly good clip, the sea calm and the sail full. Maybe if the rest of the Nein find something interesting on the maps down below or Yasha figures out where she needs to go they’ll change course. But for the moment, Fjord grips the wheel as if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored to the here and now.

“Fjord?”

Fjord lets out a startled sound of surprise and turns his head. Everyone else had gone below decks several hours ago, and Fjord had assumed that maybe they would stay down there until morning, get some much needed sleep. It had been a _very_ long day after all. But there was Jester walking towards him, the smile on her face doing a poor job to mask the worry in her eyes.

“Hey Jester. Did you find anything interesting down below?” Fjord asks, glossing over her unspoken concern for him.

“Well…” Jester says, ticking off points on her fingers. “Nott found where the crew sleeps, and it’s all hammocks which is pretty great except I’m not sure there’s one big enough for Caduceus? There are a bunch of maps that Caleb and Beau and Yasha are looking at. At least, Caleb _was_ looking at them and then he was complaining that the ship was moving too much and he went _really_ pale and he almost threw up all over the maps and now he’s having a lie down. Caduceus said he needed some alone time and went off to find the kitchen.” Jester looked guilty. “I _maybe_ followed him, because he was looking kind of upset, you know? And, um, he might have been having a bit of a cry? But then he stopped and started looking through cupboards in the kitchen like nothing was wrong.”

Fjord took a deep breath. Fuck, even _Caduceus_ was feeling strained. “Okay. Hopefully Caleb will feel better once he gets some sleep, sometimes that’s all you need when you’re seasick. _Everyone_ should go get some sleep.” He motioned back towards the stern. “You can tell Caduceus he can sleep in the captain’s quarters. I doubt the bed will be big enough for him, but he’ll have more privacy that way at any rate, which might help with whatever he’s got going on.”

“Aye, Captain!” Jester says with a salute and a smile before she went back below, sounding tired but cheerful.

Captain. Fjord hears a roaring in his ears that has nothing to do with the wind and the waves. He’s a _captain._ He has a _ship._ He has a crew of six people who have never been on a ship, five of whom had never even _seen_ the ocean before a few days ago. He has a prisoner tied to the mast and that’s a whole _other_ situation. His only saving grace is that this is a small vessel in comparison to ships he had been on before, makes the workload a little lighter, but only a little.

Fjord looks up at the sky, at the myriad of stars. He wonders if Vandren ever felt like this, completely overwhelmed by circumstance. If he had, the man had never shown it. “What am I doing out here?”

“Talking to yourself,” Caduceus says matter of factly, and there’s something about his tone of voice that makes Fjord turn his head, though he doesn’t let go of the wheel.

“Are you all right?” Fjord asks, because it’s a question one asks even if they know the answer. And he _does_ know the answer, because the same thing that’s missing in Caduceus’s voice is also missing in his face. For as long as Fjord had known Caduceus, the firbolg has always radiated a sort of serenity. Sometimes it was a sort of creepy and intense serenity, but it had been there all the same. It’s not there now, and Fjord feels a twist of guilt in his gut, feels responsible.

Caduceus shakes his head, honest to a fault. “It’s been a very long day,” he says, and that’s answer enough. “I just wanted to thank you, for letting me have my own space.”

“No problem,” Fjord says, fingers flexing on the wheel. “I hope you sleep well.”

“I hope you do too.” Caduceus reaches out and touches Fjord’s arm. “Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”

It’s good advice, Fjord knows that, but he just turns his head as Caduceus walks away. He has to keep sailing. He’s the only one who can do this. He’ll need to teach the others, but right now it’s just him and the ocean.

Fjord feels his eyes slip close as his head lowers and he jerks awake, hands gripping the wheel hard enough to make the wood creak. They’re probably far enough out that he could let the boat drift for an hour or two while he catches a nap, but the thought of giving up what little control he has terrifies him. What if something happens while he’s asleep? He’s the captain now, he’s responsible for them, for his crew, and he’s already let them down before, he—

A movement in the shadows, something dark slithering over the bow, tentacles the color of the blackness at the bottom of the deepest trenches of the sea. Fjord stares at them for a long moment, sure his eyes are playing tricks on him as more tentacles snake across the front of the ship, the weight causing the boat to start tilting forward, and Fjord can’t move, can’t take his hands from the wheel and when he opens his mouth to call for help nothing comes out, not even a scream—

“Fjord?”

Fjord’s head snaps up, eyes flying open, looking desperately towards the bow of the ship. There’s no tentacles there, the ship is as level and steady as it had been, but Fjord’s heart refuses to slow and he can still taste helplessness on his tongue as salty as blood.

“Fjord?” Jester’s hands on his arm, tugging at him gently. “When you said everyone should go to sleep, I am pretty sure you were part of the everyone.”

“I can’t.” The words come out harsher than he means to and he sees Jester flinch, though she doesn’t let go of him. He just keeps screwing things up, and that’s how he got here in the first place, how he got everyone into this, isn’t it? He made too much noise down at the docks and that drew everyone’s attention and then they were shooting at Beau and now, and now—

“Jess, I’m sorry,” Fjord whispers, hunching over the wheel, his shoulders nearly touching his ears.

“It’s okay,” Jester says quickly. “You’re tired and cranky, I know you didn’t mean it.”

Fjord shakes his head because Jester doesn’t get it. “I’m sorry about all this. I’m sorry that we can’t go back to Nicodranas and we had to leave your mom and your dog got left behind and that everything went wrong and—“

Jester tugs at his arm again, harder this time, and Fjord lets go of the wheel and turns, too tired to refuse her. Jester’s expression is equal parts concern and kindness and exasperation.

“Come here,” Jester says, pulling him a little closer, and Fjord puts his hands on her shoulders and leans forward until his forehead is resting against hers, and it’s just like when they were sharing a cage, sharing a cell, sharing comfort the only way they could. “It’s not that bad, Fjord, it isn’t. Of _course_ we can go back to Nicodranas. Sure, we probably _all_ have to be in disguise, and we should rename the boat, but that’s no big deal. And Nugget is with Momma, so at least they won’t be lonely. And now we have a _boat_ , and later after you have _slept_ you can teach us all sorts of cool boat things so you don’t have to do _everything._ Okay?”

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing.” It hurts something inside him to admit it, to be that vulnerable. But it’s _Jester_ , the person he’s known the longest out of the Mighty Nein, who knows that the voice he’s been using is not his own (except it is now, the accent automatic and well worn), who saw the fear and anger in his eyes when they were captured and hummed little songs even though she was bound and gagged and probably just as scared as he was. “Jess, I don’t know where we’re _going._ ”

Fjord doesn’t just mean where the boat is headed. He means the group, himself, _everything._ He’s just as adrift as the ship is.

Jester pulls back, just a little, and looks him in the eyes. “I don’t know where we’re going either,” she says. “But we’re going there together, so it’s all right.”

Her words are the anchor he needs to steady himself, and her smile is a bright star to steer by. He feels better. Still wrung out, still exhausted, but better. “You’re right,” he says, his voice a tired whisper, managing a smile.

“Of course I am,” Jester says. “I am very wise.” She gives his arm a squeeze. “But you’re the one who knows sailing stuff. If you don’t steer the boat for a few hours will we crash into something?”

Fjord looks at the sky and judges the strength of the wind and what he thinks is their distance from land. “If I lower the mainsail we should just drift on the current, and we’re far enough out that we shouldn’t run into anyone.” He tries not to think about pirates (or how they might now technically _be_ pirates) or about sudden storms, or about what might lurk in the depths below. He can’t control those things. He heads over to the rigging. “Care to give me a hand?”

“Sure!” Jester eagerly grabs the rope Fjord indicates and together they haul nearly in sync, as if they had been doing this all their life.

“You said we should rename the boat,” Fjord says as he ties off the ropes, his hands remembering the knots as old, familiar friends. “Any suggestions?”

Jester ponders for a moment, her tail tapping a thoughtful staccato rhythm on the deck. “Boaty McCrimeface,” she finally says with a nod.

Fjord laughs longer and harder than he probably should, because some things are just funnier when you’re exhausted, but Jester doesn’t seem to take offense at all, laughing along with him.

“I’ll—I’ll keep that in mind,” Fjord says as he tries to catch his breath.

Jester grins and leads the way down belowdecks, to where the rest of the crew (his crew, he has a _crew_ ) is sleeping, and Fjord goes to his rest that night in his hammock rocked to sleep by the gentle motion of the boat and with Jester’s tail wrapped loosely around his wrist, keeping him from drifting too far away.


	2. Tea and Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjord isn't the only person aboard The Mist who's feeling the strain at the moment, but hopefully it's nothing that a little tea and conversation can't help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not quite the chapter I was planning to write, and not the POV character I had been planning to write it from. But my brain was not being my friend and I was very tired when I was watching Talks Machina on Tuesday (still need to rewatch it, I had to turn it off) and all I could think about was what Liam said about how Caleb sees the group sometimes, and that combined with how frustrated I felt Caduceus might be about this whole situation right now, well... I had to write something.

The tears of frustration, doubt, and absolute utter exhaustion have long since dried on Caduceus’s face by the time he closes the door to the captain’s quarters, another layer of salt not unlike what the drying ocean water has left on his skin and clothes and armor. It’s all he can taste, all he can smell. What a difference a day has made. He remembers how awed he had been to see the ocean, how delighted he had been to feel the water on his skin, and now? Now all he wants is to be dry and on land and to not even _look_ at the sea for a few days. But no, instead he is damp, on a stolen boat (and that’s something else to be upset about) and all there is surrounding them is water.

Caduceus sighs and leans very heavily on his staff for a moment before muttering a word. The crystal at the top of the staff glows with a warm purple light, illuminating the space. All he has eyes for right now is the bed, not long enough to stretch out on of course, hardly any of the beds he’s slept in since leaving home have been large enough, but it’s not so small that curling up on it would be uncomfortable. He strips off his boots and his beetle armor with a silent promise to wipe the salt off of it in the morning and then goes to his pack for a change of clothes. That’s when he realizes that, while his pack is waterproof enough to stand up to a solid rain, nothing short of magic would have kept the contents dry after swimming in the ocean. All of his ingredients for tea are fine, wrapped tight and sealed in canisters and then wrapped again for good measure, his teapot and cups just need wiping off, but all of his clothes are terribly wet.

Caduceus stares down at his clothes for a long moment, then spends the next several minutes draping them over bits of furniture where they will eventually dry, stiff with salt, and contemplates the bed again. He thinks about Fjord sailing the ship, about how behind the exhaustion in his eyes there had been panic and fear and guilt, and about how those things make it very hard to sleep. Caduceus turns away from the bed, wipes down the teapot and fills it with water created by nothing but magic and will, brings out a canister of tea and measures it carefully. It’s lemon and lavender and chamomile, all good for anxiety. There was so much of it when he started his journey, and so little of it now. He adds valerian to make sleep come all the more swiftly no matter what worries weigh on the mind, lets the water boil, lets everything steep. There’s more than enough tea for both himself and Fjord, and Caduceus wipes out all the cups, not just the two he plans to use. His mother had taught him that you make as much tea for a few people as you do for a crowd, and you always make sure you have an extra cup for unexpected guests.

The tea is almost ready when Caduceus hears voices from outside, the rise and fall of conversation, Fjord’s low voice and Jester’s higher one. He thinks Jester might have seen him crying earlier in the kitchen, there had been a look of guilt and embarrassment on her face for the briefest of moments before she told him Fjord said he could take the captain’s quarters. He’s not ashamed if she saw him crying. Crying is just another thing people do when they’re alive, like eating and sleeping and breathing and there’s no shame in any of those things.

Caduceus hears their laughter through the door and the sound of footsteps fading away and he smiles. He is so weary he’s nearly shaking with it and uncertain of many things at the moment, but still he can’t help but smile. Caduceus had told Fjord to take care of himself, but he thinks Jester might be the one taking care of him at the moment, and that’s more than fine. The tea will keep and certainly won’t go to waste, not tonight. Caduceus pours himself a cup and breathes in the steam, the smell of lavender mixing with the scent of the sea. He goes to take a sip—

The momentary peace is shattered by the sounds of footsteps pounding up the stairs, racing across the deck, and then the guttural noise of someone being awfully, violently sick.

Caduceus sets his teacup back down and adds some grated ginger to the teapot before standing up, grabbing his staff on the way. He has no more magic left to him, but there are many ways to care for people. He doesn’t even give the bed a backward glance, and the thought of pretending he didn’t hear anything doesn’t cross his mind for a second. His own needs, his own problems can all be put aside for a time, returned to later. Right now, someone needs his help.

From the light of his staff, Caduceus can see Caleb leaning almost halfway over the railing of the ship, retching into the water below. His own stomach gives a brief lurch as if in sympathy as he walks over beside Caleb, puts a hand on his back to steady him.

“Just push me in,” Caleb groans as Caduceus rubs his back.

“I think drowning probably feels worse than throwing up,” Caduceus says, as if he doesn’t remember earlier today, being trapped inside a water elemental, feeling the burn of water entering his lungs as he lost consciousness. “Have anything left in you?”

“I don’t see how I can,” Caleb says, just before retching again.

Caduceus waits for several long moments, making meaningless soothing noises while he waits for Caleb to finish. It hadn’t always been the grieving and their dearly departed that had come to the Blooming Grove, Caduceus has taken care of his share of sick people as well. When Caleb finally stands up again, wiping out his mouth with one sleeve and his tearing eyes with the other, the purple light of Caduceus’s staff makes him look even paler than usual, deepens the shadows under his eyes. Caleb always smells of woodsmoke, but Caduceus realizes that right now he also smells like incense, thick and heavy.

“How do you feel now? Better?”

“I feel wretched,” Caleb replies, his voice sounding raw. “Fjord told me that sleep would help, as if I hadn’t been trying to sleep for hours. I figured if I was going to be miserable, I should at least be miserable with my cat, but he is octopus shaped still, and not as good for petting.” Caleb was rubbing the sleeve of his coat as he said this, something he often did when he was stressed and Frumpkin was unavailable for whatever reason. “I don’t know if it was the smell of the incense or trying to read the spell but everything just got worse.”

“Well, I have some tea—“

“Of course you do,” Caleb interjects, but even though his voice is rough Caduceus can see the faintest hint of a smile cross his face.

“I have some tea,” Caduceus says, starting over, “that should settle your stomach and help you sleep, if you can keep it down.”

“I will try anything if it will make this stop,” Caleb says, and takes one wobbling step away from the railing before Caduceus holds out a hand to both steady and stop him.

“Sit. I’ll bring it to you, and the fresh air out here can only do you good.”

Caleb sits without even a token protest and when Caduceus returns, carrying his teapot and balancing two empty cups and his own already full one, Caleb has his head in his hands, his eyes closed, though he looks up when Caduceus sits down and starts setting everything out.

“Three cups?”

Caduceus hums ascent as he pours Caleb’s tea. “My mother taught me that you always set out an extra cup, in case someone stops by and needs a cup of tea.” He holds a full teacup out to Caleb. “Drink it slowly, just in case.”

Caleb nods and does as he was bid, sipping the tea with care and pausing after each sip as if waiting for his stomach to protest. “This is very good,” he says, and then he gestures slightly towards the empty cup. “I was just surprised. My mother, she—“ Caleb pauses for a second. “We didn’t have a lot, but we had enough, most times, and my mother would always set an extra place at dinner, in case someone stopped in and needed a meal.”

“She sounds like a kind and generous woman,” Caduceus says before sipping his tea, which has gone slightly cold but is still good regardless, the lemon and lavender washing away the taste of salt on his tongue.

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb says softly, his fingers tightening around his cup, his head bowed. “ _Ja_ , she was.”

 _Was_. Ah. “I’m sorry,” Caduceus says. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Caleb shakes his head, then makes a sound of discomfort, the motion probably aggravating his stomach. “Thank you, but no. That is—no.” He takes a longer sip of his tea and then looks up at Caduceus, his blue eyes seeming darker in the purple light. “We could talk about what is bothering _you_ though. Because something’s been bothering you since this afternoon, even before all this.” Caleb gestures at the ship. “You are not the only perceptive one in the group, you know.”

Caduceus blinks slowly, faced with a conundrum. You don’t burden sick people with your problems, because that’s just _rude_ , but Caduceus also only believes in lying, even little white lies, under very specific circumstances. Saying that he’s fine wouldn’t be true, because he's not.

“Is it a cleric thing?” Caleb asks before the silence stretches too thin. “Because Jester is like this too. She never wants to bother anyone with her problems, and she is always healing everyone else and leaving herself until last.”

“I’d say it’s a ‘taking care of people’ thing, putting others before yourself,” Caduceus finally says.

“Okay then,” Caleb says, finishing his tea and holding out his cup for a refill. “Then consider my asking you what’s wrong me taking care of you. Someone has to watch out for the clerics, after all. It’ll help me take my mind off my stomach as well, if that makes you feel better about it.”

Caduceus thinks about this as he pours Caleb more tea and hands him back the cup. The reasoning seems sound enough to him. “All right,” he says, putting down his teacup and folding his hands in his lap, taking a deep breath.

“I have _no_ idea what I’m doing here right now. I nearly drowned today. _You_ nearly drowned today. _Jester_ nearly drowned next to me in that water elemental and she _still_ tried to heal me before going unconscious. Fjord dismissed a specter with a wave of his hand and _that’s_ a whole separate conversation.” Caduceus is aware that his voice is rising in volume just a bit, but he can’t seem to stop himself, just like Caleb couldn’t stop himself from being sick earlier. “We freed an enslaved creature and took care of that guy who was harassing Jester’s mother and that worked out, that was fine, but then we go down to the docks tonight to just _talk_ to a guy and now we’re out in the middle of the ocean on a stolen boat! A boat that I had to swim after because otherwise I would have been left behind!”

“Do you wish we had?” Caleb asks. “Left you behind, I mean.”

“I— I don’t know,” Caduceus says, because that’s the truth. “I left the Grove when you came along because it felt like the right time, you felt like the right people. And I’m happy to help you all, I am! And the world is an amazing place! But it’s also bright, and loud, and the closest I’ve come to seeing the Wildmother since I’ve left was the lighthouse in Nicodranas, because for all my meditating I haven’t been able to connect to the world the way I used to _._ I feel like I’m getting distracted and that I’m further away from my goal than when I started and that’s…just…. _Intensely_ frustrating. I am starting to wonder if you were the right people after all, and I am full of doubts for the first time in my life, I am _exhausted_ and I have had a _day.”_

Caduceus picks up his cup with hands that shake from exhaustion and emotion and drinks deeply before topping off his cup. Caleb watches him for a moment, and then nods.

“Anything left in you? Feeling better?”

Caduceus considers Caleb’s words for a long moment, recognizing them as an echo of what he had asked Caleb before. He felt even more wrung out than before, but now it felt almost… good. “I think that helped?”

“Good,” Caleb says with a nod. His color is improving, Caduceus notices, and his voice sounds a bit stronger. “I did not realize that we had so much in common.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean—“ Caleb taps his fingers on the side of his teacup. “I have thought about leaving many times. I’ve been shot with arrows and had swords held to my throat and had arguments over several things, and every time I have thought about leaving. And I didn’t. The night before Molly died, I almost left. And then I didn’t. When Molly fell, my first thought was that I should run. But I stayed. I just keep staying. Sometimes I think everyone is a distraction from what I’m trying to do and I hate them for that, but I just. Keep. Staying.” Caleb let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, almost angrily.

This is the most Caduceus has heard Caleb talk about himself and he has so many questions, but he asks the one he thinks Caleb will answer. “Do you know why you stay?”

“Because I can’t do what I need to do without them. I was— alone for a long time before I met Nott, and I was barely surviving during that time. After we joined up together, things got a little easier. Just a little, but it was enough that I could start thinking about what I needed to do. And now there are all of you, and we help each other, and you keep me alive, and that’s important, that’s a start.”

“What do you need to—“

Caleb cuts him off with a wave of his hand, and Caduceus lets him. He’d had a feeling that Caleb wouldn’t want to answer that question. “Not relevant. This is about you. What I’m saying is, I understand. You’ve been seeing some of the best of what we can do, at least the aftermath of it, up until now. And now you realize that isn’t all we are. We can be a bunch of fuckups. Molly was probably the best of us and he was by no means perfect either, and Yasha doesn’t stick around long enough to fuck up as much as we do, but it’s true. We are trying to be better people but some nights things happen and they just keep happening and then you’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no idea how you got there. I would not blame you if the second we make landfall you step off this boat and walk away and never come back. I would not stop you. I think you are good for this group and we need you and I would be sorry to see you go, but I would not stop you.”

“I—huh. That’s… a lot to think about.”

Caleb nods. “It is. And there will be plenty of time to think about it, I’m sure. I’d say sleep on it, but it’s not like you could leave this instant even if you wanted to.”

“Not without swimming,” Caduceus agrees. “And I am very tired of being wet.”

Caleb chuckles at that. “I do not blame you in the slightest.” He yawns, stretching slightly. “This is very excellent tea.”

“Thank you. Feeling better?”

“I think so.” Caleb stands, and this time he doesn’t wobble, just sways a bit in time with the movement of the ship. “If I can stay awake long enough, I would like to try my spell up here. If I start feeling sick again, well, I won’t have so very far to go.”

“Do you mind if I stay up here as well?” Caduceus asks, draining the last of his tea. “I have a lot to meditate on, and, well, I have a feeling it’s going to be a very busy morning.”

“I think you’re right,” Caleb says. “And _ja_ , feel free to stay. Thank you, for the tea.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for the conversation, and the sympathetic ear.”

“It’s good to talk about your feelings sometimes,” Caleb says, and there’s something about the way he says it that makes Caduceus think that even though Caleb believes what he just said, he doesn’t believe that it applies to himself. It’s a problem for another time, and Caduceus clears away the tea things and stores the un-drunk tea for another time before stepping back onto the deck.

Caleb has already sketched out his spell diagrams in chalk, and the smell of incense and herbs mingles with the salt smell of the ocean as Caduceus finds a spot far enough away from Caleb so as not to disturb him, and closes his eyes. There’s a chance he’ll fall asleep instead of meditating but he’ll see it as a win either way, honestly. Caleb’s spell chanting mixes with the sound of the ocean as Caduceus calms his thoughts and—

_The ocean water is dark, broken only by the moons light glittering across the waves. Caduceus walks along the surface as easily as he would walk across a forest path, the water cool under his feet without making them wet, for which he is deeply grateful. He can smell salt but he can also smell Caleb’s incense, and that’s nice, that helps._

_The Wildmother looks different than she usually does, when she rises out of the water in front of him, her skin a deeper green, her hair less the color of tree bark and more like the dark brown cliffs of Nicodranas. There are plants wreathing her form and growing in her hair that he doesn’t have a name for, and they sway and move as if they were underwater. She walks towards him, stopping close enough that he could reach out and touch her, if he dared._

_He does not ask her where she’s been when he’s been trying to reach her all this time, because that would be unspeakably rude. The timetables of gods are not the timetables of mortals, he knows this, despite how frustrated he’s been feeling. Instead he just looks into her fathomless eyes, as deep as the night sky, as deep as the ocean._

_“I’ve been having a_ **_very_ ** _bad day,” Caduceus says, and though he is old as humans reckon time and sometimes feels much older, he is young for a firbolg, and feels younger still in her presence. So when she opens her arms to him he steps into them as if he were a child, and even though the memory of his mother’s hugs are not as clear as they once were, she’s been gone so very long, the embrace of the goddess feels almost as comforting, for she’s a mother too, after all._

_They talk then, though mostly she talks and he listens, talks about paths that aren’t always straight or smooth, that fork and twist, that some people you meet and walk with until the path ends and some you leave behind, and there is fate, there is destiny, but there are some choices that are all your own, and she is sure he will find his way to where he needs to be in time._

It could be seasons later when Caduceus comes back to himself and opens his eyes again, but the sky is still dark and the charcoal in Caleb’s brazier is still smoldering gently, the smell of incense fainter than it had been but still present. When the crystal on top of Caduceus’s staff lights up again, he sees Caleb curled up on his side, fast asleep with Frumpkin held in his arms. The cat blinks slowly at Caduceus and gives a little chirp when the firbolg kneels next to Caleb.

“You’re taking very good care of him,” Caduceus assures Frumpkin, reaching out a hand toward the familiar, who smells like magic and green, growing things, almost like home. “Would you let me take care of him too?”

Frumpkin purrs and rubs his head against Caduceus’s hand, an emphatic yes as far as he can tell, then jumps up onto Caduceus’s shoulder as he picks Caleb up. Caduceus is not the strongest firbolg, but Caleb doesn’t seem to weigh that much, as far as humans go. Still, regardless of weight, it just makes sense to carry Caleb to the captain’s quarters and tuck him into the bed Caduceus had been planning on sleeping in rather than navigate the stairs and low ceilings of belowdecks.

Frumpkin nuzzles Caduceus’s cheek before jumping down onto the bed and burrowing under Caleb’s arm. Caleb half smiles in his sleep and makes a contented sound and Caduceus can’t help but smile back. It always feels nice to help people.

Caduceus beds down on the floor with a blanket taken from the bed and an extra pillow, and it is more than comfortable enough to sleep on, though after the day he’s had, he could probably fall asleep on the rockiest hard ground the world has to offer him. He feels a _lot_ better. There is still a conversation he probably needs to have with the rest of the group, and still choices he has to make, but those can wait, for a little while at least. He puts out the light on his staff with a word, closes his eyes, and finally, _finally_ goes to sleep.


	3. Winged Misfortune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beau's not having the best morning, but it can't get any worse. Right?

They’ve been on the ship for two days now, and Beau still keeps expecting Yasha to leave at a moment’s notice. It’s ridiculous of course, they’re surrounded by ocean as far as the eye can see and they’re not even remotely close to land, there’s no where to go but up, and even though Yasha has the coolest wings Beau has ever seen, she can’t fly with them. Still, every time Beau walks into a room on the ship or out onto the deck and Yasha is there, well, Beau keeps getting surprised.

She’s doubly surprised today because when she walks onto the deck that morning, Fjord is sitting cross legged next to Caleb, a map between them and _Yasha_ is the one at the helm, eyes glued to the horizon. Beau finds herself rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but stare. Maybe it’s the angle of the sun hitting her muscles just right, or the way the wind is blowing her hair back, but Yasha looks especially good at the helm of a ship, like a pirate queen or something.

Yasha looks over and Beau quickly averts her gaze so as not to be caught staring, instead looking upward as if suddenly interested in something above her. Her eyes find Nott, perched on the very top of the mast.

“Hey!” Beau calls to Nott. “Keeping lookout or just trying to get as far away from the water as possible?”

“Yes!” Nott calls back.

“That wasn’t a yes or no question!”

“It’s both!” Nott yells. “But it’s boring up here! It’s all just water! And some birds over there!”

“Do any of them look like Professor Thaddeus?” Beau’s heart starts to beat faster as she immediately looks to where Nott is pointing, where several large birds seem to be flying behind the ship. All Beau can see from this distance is that they sort of look almost like seagulls, but a lot bigger.

“Can you please stop shouting?” Caleb snaps, and when Beau goes to look at the wizard, he’s still sitting turned away from her, but he’s hunching so far into himself that his shoulders are nearly touching his ears. Too late Beau remembers how badly Caleb flinches from sudden loud noises. Great. She’s been out of bed for ten minutes and she’s already pissed someone off. It’s nearly a personal best.

“Sorry,” Beau says, and it comes out sounding stiff and wounded and defensive and she hates it, because she really is actually sorry.

“ _None of them look like an owl_.” Beau hears as a whisper in her ear. “ _You can reply to this message._ ”

“ _Thanks Nott_ ,” Beau replies, and walks over to where Fjord and Caleb are, hunkering down. Caleb is staring at the fragments of map they had found partially charred belowdecks, the only surviving remnants of the documents the crew had tried to destroy. She’s not surprised her owl isn’t following them. After all, the bird hadn’t wanted to be with her in the first place. The fact that it had stayed with her for several days was what was really surprising.

“ _I’m hoping one of these really big seagulls comes close enough for me to shoot,_ ” Nott says. “ _Then we can have seagull for breakfast. You can reply to this message._ ”

Beau doesn't reply to Nott, just makes a face instead. Jester’s mother had made a comparison between seagulls and rats, and the image had kind of stuck with Beau. Maybe Yasha would eat seagull, if Nott felt like sharing, they had eaten rats together after all, but Beau would totally take a pass on that. That did remind her of the whole reason she had come up on deck though.

“Jester and Caduceus said that breakfast will be in a little bit,” Beau says to Caleb and Fjord. “I don’t know what they’re making. Jester said it’s a surprise and Caduceus just smiled when I asked him.” Beau had offered to help, but the kitchen was barely big enough for one person, let alone a tiefling and a firbolg, so Beau hadn’t been surprised that her presence hadn’t been needed. Still, it had made her feel slightly unwanted and out of sorts regardless. “I’ve never seen Jester cook before, should we be concerned?”

“She’s not terrible at it,” Fjord replies. “When it was just the two of us on the road, before we met you, we used to take turns cooking. If she’s got Caduceus backing her up, I’m sure things will be fine.”

“And if we all get food poisoning, we have two clerics to heal us,” Caleb mumbles as he shifts around pieces of the map as if it were a puzzle.

There’s a piece of the map that looks like an island with an X on it, surrounded by water with strange triangular markings. Beau points to it. “What’s that?”

“I think it’s an island _possibly_ near Inkclaw Reef,” Fjord says. “There’s not a lot of map here, and navigation was never really my thing. When we get to port and hire a navigator and buy an actual map we should be able to figure it out, but it _might_ be  Urukhasel Island, though I’m really hoping it isn’t.” Fjord rubbed at his face and sighed. “I’ve heard stories about the place. Ghost stories.”

“Really? That’s great! I can find out if I really _can_ punch ghosts!”

Fjord gives a very weak little chuckle and then rubs at his eyes. Now that Beau is actually paying attention, she could see the darker green shadows under them. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired. Weird dreams. And no I’m not coughing up seawater again,” Fjord says quickly. “Just…” he taps the X on the island. “I think… I’m supposed to go there.”

“Okay, cool,” Beau says. “You have a plan?”

“Keep heading to Port Zoon, hire a crew, and head out to where ever this is. I mean, no offense to any of you, you’ve been learning really fast, but for a long voyage like that, we need to hire more experienced folk.”

“Nah, it’s totally fine, I get it,” Beau says, and she does. “Any idea what’s on that island? Is it treasure? Haunted treasure?”

“I don’t know,” Fjord says, and okay, yeah, he’s sounding agitated now.

“Yasha has been at the helm for awhile,” Caleb says suddenly, looking pointedly at Beau. “Maybe you should see if she needs a breather?”

Beau knows when she’s being got rid of. Seems like it’s just going to be one of those days when she can’t do anything right. Fine. Might as well go talk to Yasha and make a mess of that too.

“Hey,” Beau says as she walks up to Yasha.

“Hey,” Yasha says, eyes flicking over to her for a second before going back to the horizon.

“You ahhhh, you look good up here. I mean… you look comfortable.” Shit, she had been so smooth with Keg, why did Yasha always make her feel like a tongue-tied awkward adolescent? Maybe it was because Keg had been obvious in her interest in Beau, which had felt nice. Really nice. If Yasha actually had feelings for her though, they were entirely a mystery. Still, Beau wasn’t the type to give up easily. “Fjord tell you about the island he wants to go to?”

“Yeah,” Yasha says, not looking at her, just staring out to sea.

“Do you think it’s… you know, the island you’ve been dreaming about?”

“I….” Yasha sighs heavily. “I don’t know. Maybe. My dreams are not always easy to understand. But it could be?” She shrugs, the movement stiff. “I guess we will see.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Suddenly Beau remembers why Caleb sent her over here in the first place. Well, one of the reasons. “Here, let me take the wheel. Caleb said you’ve been up here awhile.”

“I have,” Yasha says, deftly changing places with Beau, going to stand behind her. Beau is surprised at the resistance she feels as she grabs the wheel, the current seeming exceptionally strong, stronger than it had been the last time she had taken a turn. Still, Yasha had made it look effortless, so Beau does her best not to show she’s straining.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Beau asks, trying to keep her voice steady as she exerts herself.

“Something like that,” Yasha says softly. Beau can’t see her face, but she can almost hear the slight frown. “It is….cramped down below and if I was going to be up here anyway, I figured I might as well make myself useful. Take some of the burden off Fjord.”

“Yasha are you okay?” Beau blurts out suddenly, and shit, she had told herself she wasn’t going to bring this up again, but here she was. “I mean, you said you were okay, back at the bar, and then you said you would _be_ okay, which isn’t the same thing and—“

The wind changes or the current does or something, Beau doesn’t know, all she knows is that the ship lurches hard to port suddenly and the wheel turns too fast in Beau’s hands. Both Fjord and Caleb let out sounds of surprise and mild alarm as Nott screeches from the top of the mast. Beau curses as she tries to correct their course and then Yasha’s hands are around her own, helping her turn the wheel.

“Sorry!” Beau calls out, her face hot with an embarrassed flush.

“S’alright,” Fjord calls back. “Just be careful.”

The ship seems to be back on course, but Yasha hasn’t moved away from Beau, her front still up against Beau’s back, her hands around Beau’s on the wheel. Beau finds herself still blushing now, but for an entirely different reason. She wants to thank Yasha for helping her, but she doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want to remind Yasha that she’s touching her.

“I’ll be fine,” Yasha says as if Beau’s awkward attempt at conversation hadn’t been interrupted. “It’s… happened before. I’ll be fine.”

“Wait, _what’s_ happened before?” Beau says, wondering if they’re talking about the same thing. “Being kidnapped and tortured or someone—“ she swallows hard. She might as well say it. “Someone close to you dying?”

“Yes,” Yasha says, and her hands tighten on Beau’s just a fraction.

“That wasn’t a yes or no question,” Beau says, feeling like she’s repeating herself, because she is. “I mean—fuck it, it’s not like you _have_ to tell me anything. Just, you know, if you wanted to talk about it. But I get it, if you don’t.”

“No, I want to—“ Yasha starts to say, but she’s interrupted by the sound of a crossbow firing, Nott’s triumphant shout, the shriek of a bird, and then something heavy hitting the deck.

Yasha flinches and pulls away and Beau inwardly curses, whatever fragile mood broken, whatever Yasha had been about to say abruptly cut off. “Nott!” Beau yells as the goblin scampers down from the mast and reaches for the dead bird, but she doesn’t get any further than that. Because the bird, about half as large as Nott is, with a crossbow sticking out of its wing, isn’t dead after all, it is alive and bleeding and _pissed._ It hisses and shrieks at Nott, who screams and runs as the bird chases her, one wing dragging behind it.

Beau can’t move to try and corral the bird, can only watch as Nott and the bird run one way, Yasha moves the other way to try and intercept them, and Caleb stands, muttering a spell and moving his hands in a gesture Beau has seen him use before. The bird slows and Yasha lunges for it—-

Fjord appears in a cloud of silvery mist in front of the bird, falchion in his hand for a split second before it vanishes and he scoops the bird up into his arms. The bird shrieks and flaps its one good wing, several white and gray feather falling to the deck. The other wing hangs limp.

“Good catch,” Beau says, but Fjord doesn’t acknowledge her. He’s staring at the bird, eyes wide, and his skin has gone the color of a several days old bruise, a faded yellow green. He turns towards Nott who’s breathing hard from being chased.

“Do you know what you’ve done?” Fjord’s voice is soft, and there’s fear and anger running through his words, which doesn’t make any sense to Beau. Fjord hadn’t even blinked when Nott had shot a bunch of seagulls at the beach days ago.

Nott seems confused too as she stares up at Fjord. “I shot a really big seagull? I mean, not very well, because I didn’t kill it, and now I feel kind of sorry for it, which is going to make it just a little bit harder for me to eat it—“

“ **You shot a mollymauk**!”

Fjord’s voice echoes off the ship as loud as a thunderclap. Beau realizes she’s gripping the wheel so tightly that she can hear the wood creaking, or maybe that’s just the sound of her tendons straining. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Yasha has gone completely still, all except her lips, forming Molly’s name. Nott flinches, almost cowering and suddenly Caleb is in front of her, standing between her and Fjord.

“Maybe you should explain yourself instead of shouting, _ja_?” Caleb’s voice is low, but he’s flexing his hands like he’s just itching to burn something. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She had thought the group had left their days of infighting behind, she doesn’t know why she had thought that now.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind Beau on the deck, and then a familiar tingle of magic at the back of her mind, something soothing and cool that wants to surround her anxiety and wash it away, but instead retreats, leaving her untouched. Nott suddenly lets out a sigh and straightens out of her frightened hunch at the same time that Caleb relaxes his hands. Fjord’s breathing evens out, though his muscles are still tense as he holds the struggling bird, who seems unaffected by the magic. Beau shoots a look at Yasha, but she’s still staring at the bird in Fjord’s arms.

“I think Caleb has the right idea,” Caduceus says from behind Beau, his voice gentle but almost stern as he steps close to Fjord. The bird in Fjord’s arms gives out a whistling shriek and bites Caduceus as he reaches for it. Caduceus doesn’t even flinch as the beak sinks into his hand, drawing blood.

“I know,” Caduceus says quietly. “You’re hurt and you’re scared. I just want to help you, and then we’ll let you go. I promise.” This time, when he reaches for the bird, it just makes a sad little squawk, but it doesn’t fight as Caduceus lays a hand on the injured wing.

“Beau, what’s going on?” Jester’s voice in her ear makes Beau startle in surprise. She hadn’t heard the tiefling moving across the deck, but Jester could be as quiet as a cat when she wanted to be. “I heard Nott shrieking and Fjord yelling.”

“I don’t know,” Beau whispers back. “Nott shot that bird and Fjord got really upset and—“

“I’m sorry, Nott” Fjord is saying, and Beau shuts up so she can listen. “I didn’t think to tell you, it’s my own fault. This isn’t a seagull,” he says, indicating the bird in his arms. “It’s an albatross, or a mollymauk, some people call them. It’s said that they’re the ghosts of sailors and that having them follow your ship is extremely lucky and that whoever kills one will bring down a terrible curse on themselves and the rest of the crew.”

Beau thinks of the Iron Shepherds, of Lorenzo with his eyes burning out of his skull, and wonders if Caleb is thinking about that as well.

“I didn’t kill it!” Nott protests. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know! But it’s not dead, so that means everything will be okay, right?”

“Of course,” says Caleb quietly.

The crossbow bolt, tipped with blood, clatters to the deck as the now healed mollymauk flies off with a cry.

“Yeah Nott,” Beau says. “It’s just a superstition. It doesn’t mean anything anyway.” She glances over at Yasha. “Right, Yasha?”

Yasha doesn’t say anything, just stares into the sky in the direction that the mollymauk flew off in. Beau follows her gaze as the wind dies entirely and clouds start spreading across the sky, dark as ink.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was so hard *not* to capitalize mollymauk every time I wrote it. I automatically tried to capitalize it here even.


	4. Swept Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A storm at sea, and Fjord and Jester get swept off their feet. Literally.

It could be the night of the storm and the sabotage, the night of fire and drowning and death. It’s not, Fjord knows it’s not, even as his heart pounds and his breath comes too fast as he grips the ship’s wheel in a valiant attempt not to let the boat get swamped by waves. It’s mid-morning, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the blackness of the sky, and he can hardly see for the rain falling in sheets and the salt spray stinging his eyes. Behind him, he can hear Beau and Jester calling to each other as they try to reef the sails while the wind shrieks around them.

“This is because I shot that bird!” Fjord hears Nott say as Caleb scoops her up from the deck and holds her tightly. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know!”

“Get down below!” Fjord shouts back, and it isn’t an answer. He’s superstitious when it comes to the ocean, but then he’s never met a sailor who hasn’t been. Nott shot an albatross ( _mollymauk, Mollymauk, Molly to his friends,_ Fjord thinks nonsensically) and while she hadn’t killed the bird, the storm had sprung up soon after, hadn’t it?

“Caleb, take her down below, I think Yasha and Caduceus are already down there. I’ll send Jester and Beau after you when they’ve taken care of the sails. That spell you’ve been using when we’re on the road, that invisible bubble thing, will it keep water out? It might buy you some time if anything goes wrong.” _If I can’t get us out of this,_ he thinks.

“It keeps out rain,” Caleb shouts over the storm. “I do not know if it will keep out the whole ocean.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to find out!” Fjord shouts as he turns all of his attention back to steering, frantically trying to recall what Vandren had told him about sailing during a storm. Reef the sail, secure the rigging, and pray to whatever gods you believe in, and maybe some you don’t.

There’s a figure at the bow of the ship, and Fjord frantically tries to blink the water out of his eyes, afraid to take his hands off the wheel even for a moment. He squints through the dark and the rain and it takes a flash of lightning for him to make out who is still on deck. Yasha is gripping the railing, facing the waves, her head tilted toward the sky, mouth open, words whipped away by the wind.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of Fjord’s eye, gray and green and pink as Caduceus makes his way across the deck, staff in hand, sliding on the wet wood as the ship pitches and rocks. The cleric ends up by Yasha’s side, one hand on her arm, and for a moment Fjord thinks that Caduceus means to talk sense into her, get her to go below. Then Caduceus’s staff glows, the purple light as brilliant as a lighthouse beacon, and Yasha’s voice becomes louder, loud enough that Fjord can hear it over the wind and the waves. It’s a scream and a song and a prayer, as beautiful and terrifying as a lightning strike. There’s another voice underneath it, deeper, another language entirely, and something about the cadence of it makes Fjord think of wind in the branches, of rain striking leaves.

“What are they doing?!” Jester’s hand on his arm is cold, but everything is cold, the wind and the rain and the wood beneath his hands.

“I don’t know. Praying, I hope.” Fjord doesn’t know much about gods, but he knows you pray to the Wildmother before an ocean journey for a safe return, and he remembers his fellow sailors crying out to the Stormlord during his last night on Vandren’s ship, before the fire and water and the dark.

“It sounds like bells screaming,” Beau says from behind Jester. Fjord spares her a glance, sees her clinging to the mast with a rapt expression on her face. “It’s kind of hot. And terrifying.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Fjord says. “Whatever they’re doing, leave them to it. The two of you should go below, I’ve got this.” It’s not exactly a lie. He’s got this because he’s the only one with enough experience to maybe get them through this storm.

“Like hells you do!” Beau says. “What if like, a rope breaks or fuck, you get swept away or something?”

“Tie my hands to the wheel,” Fjord says, realizing he should have thought of that earlier.

“Fjord!” Jester’s voice is high with panic, her hand gripping his arm hard enough to bruise, and when he looks in the direction she’s staring in he has only a second to register the wall of water rising above them, about to crash down, and it’s too late to do anything, too late.

“ **Hang on to** —“ is all Fjord manages to say and then the water slams into them, into the ship which tilts under his feet and his hands are wrenched from the wheel as easily as if he had the strength of a child and he is falling, Jester still clinging to him. He holds his breath and gathers her close, bracing for impact, praying he hits the deck or the railing, because that would mean he’d still be on the ship, they’d still be on the ship and not—

The fall off the side of the ship takes seconds that stretch into forever, like a nightmare or a fever dream. He sees Beau still clinging to the mast and that’s something, one less thing to worry about and he holds Jester even tighter against him because he has to keep her safe, if they get separated they might never find each other again. There is a second when he hits the icy water, that he thinks he’s succeeded, but then Jester, wide eyed, is pulled out of his arms by the strength of the ocean, stronger than him, stronger than her, a jealous mistress dragging her away. The cold surrounds him, the dark envelops him, and for a moment he sinks, lost to the shock of it all. It could be the night of fire and drowning and death but it’s _isn’t_ , and even though the salt water burns his eyes he keeps them open as he swims towards the surface, searching for a hint of blue.

Fjord breaks the surface coughing and gasping, frantically treading water. “Jester!!” Fjord shouts in between coughs. “Jester!!”

Thunder answers him, thunder and waves and rain and wind. To his left he can make out a dark shape that should be the ship, not far away and a white blue light like captive lightning has joined the purple and he can just faintly hear Beau shouting. All he has to worry about is Jester.

“Jester!” Fjord calls again, and this time he hears her call his name, and she sounds far away from both him and the ship and he starts swimming in her direction, cursing the cold that stiffens his muscles at the same time he is thankful for the armor he wears, the enchantment that helps him swim as fast as he can walk. It has other magic too, magic he hopes won’t be needed. His whole body aches as the waves batter him, as he swims against the current, trying to reach her. It seems to take an age before he sees a bit of blue, her hair slicked back with rain, and she’s swimming just as hard as he is, trying to reach him.

Their hands touch, and Fjord isn’t sure if he pulls Jester towards him or Jester pulls him to her. The end result is the same, the two of them clinging to each other in the middle of the ocean as if nothing could separate them. It’s like something out of one of Jester’s romance novels, and Fjord would laugh except they’re not safe yet, and he’s so very, very cold. Jester isn’t, she feels warm against his skin, but then, she’s never been bothered by the cold to begin with.

The rain stops suddenly, the wind dying down, the ocean still rough but calmer than it had been, like them holding each other was what the storm had been waiting for. It’s not that, it can’t be, has to be coincidence or divine intervention, considering how hard Yasha and Caduceus had seemed to be praying. Fjord isn’t going to ask questions. Even the water doesn’t feel as cold as it had, and that’s nice even though he’s shivering even harder in Jester’s arms.

“Fjord?”

Something about the way Jester says his name makes him think she’s been saying it for awhile. She’s looking at him too, her violet eyes large with worry. From this close he can make out every freckle on her skin. Gods, she’s beautiful. How come he’s never told her that?

“Fjord? Are you okay?” Jester sounds worried. Fjord tries to think about why that could be, but his thoughts are sluggish and slow, as heavy as his legs feel as he tries to tread water. Water. Right. They should get out of the water.

“Jesssster,” Fjord says, and her name slurs coming out of his mouth, hissing in the middle like a snake, like when he’s had too much to drink. He could use a drink, something to warm his insides. He’s so cold, and so tired from swimming. He feels his eyes close. There’s a reason he shouldn’t close his eyes, but he can’t remember what it is right now. His thoughts are far away, like Jester’s voice. She sounds like she’s scared, but there’s nothing to be scared of. He’s just tired, that’s all.

_Awareness ebbs and flows like the tide, dreams and memories and nightmares all tangled together like seaweed. Jester holding him close with one arm as she swims. Caduceus walking on water, his eyes as deep as the ocean. Yasha with lightning arching between the bare bones of her wings as she walks alongside him, both her eyes the blue-white color of lightning as she bends down to take Fjord from Jester’s arms. Someone taking off his wet clothes, wrapping him in something warm. People talking in hushed tones. People curled around him, chasing away the cold. Being warm. Being hot. Burning. A snake wrapped around him, the golden eyes that adorn its length staring unblinking at him. A mollymauk falls to the deck and turns into Mollymauk, who smiles at Fjord and shakes his head._

_“I can’t believe you accidentally stole a boat,” Molly says before disappearing in a swirl of feathers._

_Through it all Jester is there, talking to him during the wet and the cold and the warmth and the heat, telling him how everyone’s worried about him, and how good Yasha and Beau have gotten at sailing the ship. She’s in his dreams as well, her hands pulling the snake off him, collecting Molly’s feathers from the deck and making a cloak of them._

_“Wake up,” Jester says as she wraps the feather cloak around his shoulders. “I miss you.”_

_“Yes, do wake up,” says the shadowed figure behind Jester, his green hooded cloak obscuring his features. They step in front of Jester, place one hand against Fjord’s forehead. “I hate to see her sad.”_

Fjord opens his eyes. He’s in the captain’s quarters, the sheets underneath him are soaked with sweat, and Jester’s hand is holding his, blue skin against green. She’s asleep in a chair next to his bed, legs half tucked under herself, head lolled back, mouth slightly open, snoring faintly.

In a moment he’s going to squeeze her hand and she’s going to wake up, and her delighted fussing is going to be loud enough to bring everyone into the small space, Caleb talking about hypothermia and Caduceus offering soup and tea and Beau saying she’s glad he’s awake because he’s way better at steering the ship and Yasha nodding silent agreement. Nott will apologize for shooting the mollymauk again and Fjord will reassure her that the storm wasn’t her fault and she’ll believe him and he’ll believe it himself.

All that hasn’t happened yet though. Right now everything is quiet. Fjord finds himself staring at the freckles scattered across her Jester’s face like stars, wonders where they would lead him if he set the compass of his heart by them, then realizes that he already has, somewhere along the way.

“I don’t know where we’re going,” Fjord says softly, echoing her words from nights ago. “But we’re going there together, so it’s all right.”

Fjord squeezes Jester’s hand, and waits for her to wake up.

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap, on this story anyway! I hope y'all enjoyed it! I know I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Special thanks to aunt_zelda, who commented on the last chapter that for a moment, she thought the mollymauk was going to turn into, you know, Mollymauk. Which was an image I now can't get out of my head and is making me think swan princess thoughts. ANYWAY, I thank her for the comment and hope she doesn't mind me using it here for one of Fjord's fever dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to HerbertBest for coming up with what ended up being the boat name Jester suggested, and for cheering me on every time I drop a chunk of story into Tumblr messenger. <3
> 
> I'm angel-ascending over on Tumblr if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


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